


High Nights At Freddy's

by yoangelo



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Bald Kylo Ren, British, Child Murder, Drug Use, Furbies, Insanity, Marijuana, Mental Disintegration, Multiple Endings, Murder, Nipples, Romance, Teeth, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26892034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoangelo/pseuds/yoangelo
Summary: Awesome, Must read. My magnum opus.PLEASE help I am not ok I am held at gun ppioimt j just want to see my family ahain peleade
Relationships: Purple Guy (Five Nights at Freddy's)/Reader, William Afton | Dave Miller/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	High Nights At Freddy's

Chapter 1

You are a new employee at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria. You enter the pizzeria, starting your first day at work. The pizza scents wafted into your nose holes, going up your nose tubes. It smelled so good you could nut right then and there, but you withstood from your primal urges to go for a more formal approach to your employers' judging gazes. 

You are pointed to go into an area in the backrooms to fill out some paperwork. You open the door to the office and he is sitting there in front of some paperwork. The CEO of Freddy’s Pizza. 

The wholesome chonker gestures for you to come inside. “Come in, new one.” you sit at the chair across from him, at the opposite side of his desk. 

He points to a part of the paper, trying to get you to ignore what’s written on it “Sign here, go on now.” smiling ominously. 

Sitting to the right of the paper was a purple glitter gel pen. That's sick as hell, you think, unless you think something different because I don’t know you. You notice the paper has Some stains on it. Pizza sauce or blood. They taste the same, so it doesn’t matter. 

You pick up the pen in your hand, and write (YOUR NAME HERE) onto the paper. The menacing and dominating aura of the thicc man in front of you makes your nipples rock hard in anticipation of what's to come. 

(BAD ENDING ONE: You can feel your climax approaching, and suddenly you fall backwards, grip slipping from your chair, and the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth.  
The man behind the counter sighs, and picks up his handheld phone to dial for an ambulance. This was a common occurrence for his establishment; hence the animal suit he often hid his irresistible form in. Keep reading for another ending.) 

The man smiles like he has just gotten away with something, but looks away and hides his face so you can’t read his expression. 

“Um, what should I be doing on the job here,?” you fumble out. 

“Oh...you know. Mop up blood stains and try to keep people with guns out I guess.” he says without skipping a beat. 

“What.” you say in utter confusion. 

“You heard me, old sport!” the man proclaims and grabs your hand, shaking it fiercely to end the deal. 

You wish you would’ve read that contract right about now. 

“Welcome to the day shift, new day-guard!” he says, letting go of your hand and smiling with a big grin. You look the large man up and down once again. He was charming despite seeming like a very strange boomer. 

He will not stop staring at you with blank eyes. This eye contact is too intense. You just try to avoid his “welcoming” glare. 

His meaty hands suddenly slap down against the table with a force that you hadn't expected, and you jumped in your seat -   
"Well, out from my office with you, now. Good riddance." He leans back in his swirly-chair and tick tacks away at his 80's computer, motioning with a hand for you to get the fuck out. 

"I'm making a dirt house. Go have Mike show you around. Now."

You didn't know who the hell Mike was, and you had a lot more to ask. But honestly, he scared the shit out of you. You felt like if you stayed in here any longer he'd do something bad, like start running towards you like something you'd expect to attack you at the bottom of the stairs when you turned off the basement lights - 

You quickly stood and almost knocked the chair over behind you, but caught it in your hands before you could upset the man any further. "Yessir," you muttered quickly, and walked your way out of the door you'd came in from.

Outside was Mike.

"Hi," said Mike. 

“Hi Mike, I’m so confused and terrified. I still don’t know what my job consists of. Why was the British man so angry even though he kept smiling and acting friendly? I’m deeply disturbed. Mike. Help me. Please. What is my job?” 

you blurted out really fast, as Mike acted completely unsurprised at all of this. 

“Haha, yeah, I get that a lot, he’s a little eccentric, you know how geniuses are! Anyways, your job as a day-guard is to make sure no one dies! You know, don’t let kids run out in the street and stuff. We had to hire one due to legal reasons or a lawsuit or something like that, I didn’t get the whole memo.” 

Mike says acting like this is all completely normal. You are just going to have to accept things are like this, you guess. 

“Yeah, t-thanks Mike. I’ll go, uh, check the place out.” Mike waves at you and walks away like he really has somewhere to be. 

Is everyone here on drugs? Is this place a front for something, damn, why are people like this running a goddamn CiCi’s pizza knock off! 

Mike hadn't actually made things any more clear for you. You supposed that the first thing to do was search for children, and observe their behaviors. You know, to make sure that they weren't like, eating nails off the ground or some shit like that. 

Basically you were a lifeguard, except instead of water, there was cheeto dust and bowling alley carpets.

You'd noticed that Mike and your boss were wearing uniforms. Purple dress shirts, bow ties, and name tags. You weren't in a uniform, since no one bothered to give you one. You feared that random single parents might try to flirt with you, especially when they saw your awesome Rick and Morty T-shirt.

You headed towards the main play area. It was a maze of games and pizza tables littered with uncleaned pizza crusts. You supposed someone should clear the tables, but no one had told you to, so you did nothing.

Various children between the ages of 1 to 6 were scattered across the ground like items. Some of them moved, some of them didn't. It was almost worrying. Though you supposed the less they moved about the less danger they could potentially get themselves into. 

You walked around, trying to get a map of the place in your head, in case of any mass shootings, you noted where the exits all were. You make sure to check them regularly for children attempting to escape containment. 

You see a single father sleeping at one of the tables, face first into some salad. The child is stealing his wallet to go buy more Fazbear tokens and Fortnite V-Bucks. 

You do nothing about this, since it’s not your job. 

You notice the animatronics on stage, moving ever so robotically and singing baby shark do do doo. You cringe and look away. You notice a yellow rabbit walk out from behind stage, this one is moving organically. It must be one of those fursu- Performers as they called them. 

You had to watch this shit. You basically sit in the corner so no one notices you not patrolling for children trying to kill each other or whatever. The yellow rabbit yells in a thick, repulsive British accent “OI CHIL'REN, ‘M GONNA DO A FU- A FLIP!” 

Your eyes widen in shock at what you witness. This man in a large suit does a perfect spin flip landing on his hands and doing a handstand before jumping back to feet. The children scream and roll around on the floor in amazement. 

“What!?” You gasp out at the bizarreness of this. The eyes peeking from the suit look your way and stare deep into your soul. 

They were so….empty. So empty for a man that just did the most perfect parkour in a fucking fursuit! “Ey, kiddins, take this." He throws prize tickets in the opposite direction and runs off as they scatter the other way. 

He’s approaching you. You stand in shock as he comes up to you. “Li’e what yo see, newb’e?” 

“Uh...maybe.” You respond in utter confusion at everything that has lead up to this.

When this purple looking bitch had first spoken to you during the paper signing, his accent hadn't been so noticable. Now it was thick and heavy, like your mom. It was as if he had been catfishing you, luring into a false sense of security before revealing the true horrors of British people.

Actually, you don't know how William started his business in America in the first place. The current president of the United States, Barack Obama, outlawed all British immigrants in 1982.

He brought a padded yellow cartoon paw down to slap your back. Any lower and he would have slapped your ass. That would have been weird. Maybe arousing, but you didn't want to find out.

"Well, you better get use'ta it. This shit here's what keeps 'em comin in. Keeps the cash flowin. Without their beloved furries interacting with'm like this, we'd just be a crackhead pizza parlor." His unnerving eyes stared into yours, but it was as if they saw nothing, like a corpse. "Latest technology, innit'? I invented this here suit. You wanna try it on, don'tcha?"

It smelled the closer you got to it. Kids smelled too, so they probably didn't mind. But you weren't exactly thrilled about getting into it. Mostly you'd expected to watch over some video tapes. This was getting a little too hands-on. What kind of security guard had to get fur suited up?

It was better than being at home with your family, anyways. They didn't love you. But maybe… Freddy's would.

You nodded your head in reluctant agreement. Your boss seemed satisfied enough with the response. 

The kids were gone, scattered around the opening to the kitchen across the building like flies on a pile of shit. When you looked towards your boss for an answer, he was just fucking GONE. You looked back at the pile of children, and watched as bald-ass Mike entered an employee's-only door off to the side.

Since you had no other orders, you slipped into the kitchen with him to see what's cookin!

You saw the state of what the kitchen was like behind the scenes and immediately left. You ran. The cook didn’t even notice you. Holy shit. You scram to the employees only area to have a small break down. You enter the safe room and he’s there. Your boss.

“Hey! Glad ya’ decided ta’ come see me! Lemme show ya’ how ‘is suit works.”

He removed the head of the, suit throwing his hair back dramatically. Despite that he had some gray hairs. “The heads the easy part.” He said before unclipping the back and throwing the top off of him as fast as he can. You see it. His boobies. He was shirtless in the suit. But something was amiss - the nipples! He had so many scars you didn’t see them.

“It gets rilly hot ‘innit, ya’ know.” Yeah. Hot. He stares at you with a blank smile as you just stare at his milky chunky man titties. And arms that could like rip someone’s head off. Mama mia. You were so carried away you didn’t question the horrific scars all over him. 

“Moy eyes are up here, old sport. I didn’t realize DIS is waht ya’ liked ta’ see.” He winked. Mama mia. 

(BAD ENDING 2: Your eyes bulge out of your head and you go AWOOGA HUMMNA HUMMNA BARK BARK WOOF as your heart beats out of your chest and you go into cardiac arrest and die from the milkiness.)

Shyly, you change the subject from his lovely lumps so he doesn't think you're TOO unprofessional; "I was just uh, wondering about your nipples, sir! What happened to them?"

He looked off to the side. "I'm an inventor, mate. Lost 'em in the springtrap collapse of '42."

What the hell does that mean? You didn't want to ask.

He grinned wide like a Jack O' Lantern, showing all 45 of his British teeth. "I'm jus' foolin with 'ya, mate! They’re right here, covered by all the scars!” 

He sure didn’t seem shy around you. “Uh, Willia- Mr. Afton, right?” You try to change the subject to something not involving his white-ass middle aged cisgendered obese body. “Ither is ‘ine, fella!” 

He grins at you again. This guy sure is all smiles for having what seems to be a completely shit life and a horrifically mangled torso. You wonder if he is on drugs. That would explain those dialated pupils. 

“Um, uh, Will- Afton, huh, what was I here do to again?” 

He pauses and stares you down again. 

“Put on the suit.” 

He approaches you with golden Freddy Fazbear’s torso. “Yer lucky ya’ got a pro here to help ya’!”, and he snaps the thing on you. You didn’t get a good look at the inside of the suit...it’s probably fine. 

He suits you up and gives you a big thumbs up. “Yer doin’ great! You n' me, we’re performas’!” 

You thought you were supposed to be a guard. This is getting crazy. And crazier it got, as suddenly feel his arms against your waist and torso, gently patting you down to make sure the suit is secure.

It's intimate, and you feel the suit heat up like a sauna with how hard you're blushing. He's quiet, and you can't tell what he’s thinking. You hope it’s something nice.

From your right To the distance is the squeaking open of a door. The two of you turn to look, and a small toddler has opened the door to catch your act.

William looks at you. "You know what we have to do now, mate."

He reaches into a pouch on the front of his suit and pulls out a thick hunting knife. 

"This is a breach of rule number #24 of the Pizzeria! No peekin' in the backrooms, buddy!" He announces as if a judge at the courtroom, determinesting the fate of the accused. In a speed you hadn't expected possible for someone of his age and size, he lunges forward like a rabid animal and yanks the child inside the room, promptly stabbing it 37 times with the blade.

"I think that got 'im," he sighed, slipping the knife back into the suit and looking over his work with a sense of pride.

You looked at the monster beside you. This man was criminally fucking insane.

"Sir, this shit is highly illegal!" You cried out in horror. You couldn't handle going to court again. Not again.

William brought a finger to the lips of the bunny suit and shushed you with a wink. "Not illegal if no one ever finds out."

He pats you on the back. "Ey kid, first day's always tough, but you'll get the hang of things. C'mon, we've got a dumpster to visit."

You begin crying. 

“Oi, oi, no need to cry, no need to shout, no need to have a riot,” he says, bringing one of his hands to your face, and you tense up in fear. “Se’, luk’, you’ve gone all quiet….” 

you just stare at him blankly, dissociating from what you’ve just saw. “Ah, lookie ‘ere, I’ll go throw it in ta’ dumpster, go get ya’self some pepsi,” Mr. Afton comforted, before adding, "But cups are for da payin' customers, y'here? Jus… drink it from da tap. I do it all the time."

“O-ok.” you manage to say as this fucking insane englishman picks up a corpse like a 50lb bag of dog food he bought at walmart. 

You need this suit off you now before you choke. You hear the door slam shut as he leaves. You try to unclip it in the back and throw it off the front of you. As it hits the ground with a metallic CRACK you see it. The springlocks. They went off. You could’ve been impaled….and he put that on you….and he was wearing that himself! You realize you’ve gotten involved in something much worse than pizza not conforming to FDA standards. 

Your back slides down the wall, trembling, and begin crying in the corner.

After a while, you hear the door open again, and slam shut. 

“Oy, sport! I thought I told’ya ta get sum pepsis!”

You sniffled. "I'm allergic." The smile drained from his face, slowly. This is the first time you saw him look serious, and you just witnessed a goddamn murder. “That’s...fuckin’ awful, mate.” He reached towards you to pat you on the head. You do nothing. You just sit there and stare blankly at this...man...he must’ve been it...you read about it in the paper.

“The man behind the slaughter.”

It was all the talk around your college. "Did you hear about the man?" They’d ask. And everyone knew who he was, just with those words. 

“Ey, don’t be tellin’ anyone about what’ya saw, awright?" In his rare moment of emotion, his accent slipped into the Boston type. "Ey, we don’t need ta’ have any problems...after all, I kinda liked how you seem’d ta’ admire me at first.” He smiles big again. “Keep up the’ good work of not telling anyone what ya’ see and I’ll give you a raise!"

Good work? No one had ever told you that before. Not your mom, or your pops, or even your ex wife. This was the first time, and your nipples slightly hardened upon hearing the words. You wanted to hear it again. 

“Y-yeah...Will-Britis-Afton-man uh, you, uh, t-thanks, okay.”

"The fuck you just called me? Anyways, I've gotta go now. I gotta make some meth- I mean, unclog the toilets. Sorry, that just slips out sometimes. Don’t think much of it." He dashes out of the door in a hurry, still in his suit.

You are still fucking shaking and crying. You can’t stop thinking about him. That man.  
He has made you feel the full range of emotions in a single day. Even lust.

You feel alive. You hadn’t been born twenty six years ago, no. You were born today, on this very Tuesday. You have to see him again.

You slowly get up and rub your face and try to pull yourself together.

It was already closing time. You still don’t know what your job is.

You rumble out the door and you see him again. The man. He catches you in his arms. “I was just coming back to take off my meth shie-fur su-Springlock suit! I definitely wasn't watching you cry,” 

There was the faint sound of licking lips from beneath the suit head.

“Hi.” You meekly say to him. He grins at you like a rabid animal bearing its teeth.

He pushes you aside and walks in like he’s on a mission. 

You fall over again. 

You just curl up in a ball so drained by today. He comes out back in his purple clothes.

“You sure uh, are worn out. Hey, do you wanna come with me? We can get a drink, smoke a few blunts, then I’ll drive you home, for sure!”

He helps you up and he has a vice grip on your hand. He leads you to his Honda Civic. 

He opens the passenger side and helps you inside. He sure is acting gentle for someone that fucking murders people at random. 

You sit there and just look at him. He gives you a toothy smile and a thumbs up. 

He gets in the drivers side to drive the car of course. He turns the key over and the car doesn’t start. So he smacks the steering wheel and tries again. It works this time. The car is clunking. Oh dear.

He backs out way too fast and speeds out. The car bumps slightly, and you really hope he didn't just run someone over. He doesn’t seem to care about anything or anyone around him. You don’t care at this point in your life. He gets out the fattest blunt you’ve ever seen. It smells like kush and you can see purple weed flakes on the end of it. Oh my god. 

“This strain is called The Big Chungus.” It reminds you of him. Purple and thick as fuck. Delicious looking. Stinky. Potentially medically deadly. Dripping with blood? Swollen. Veiny. Awesome. He lights up the fattest blunt and takes a hit and does awesome smoke tricks despite that he should be looking at the road since he’s driving. The car bumps as he runs over someone's mailbox. He passes you the blunt. “I got a bud’ from back in the 60’s growin’ me this shit! Flowerchild revolution, maaan!” 

You stare at his disgusting British teeth and accept the blunt. You take a hit off the blunt. You hand it back to him. He takes it and starts to smoke it all himself. The weed and he rolls down the window to his car and chucks it into the woods. You think you see it light a tree on fire, but you could just be high. You feel pretty good. You really are getting fond of this freak. Also, you're driving in the exact opposite direction of your house and into like, the countryside? You love the country! 

You see a bird. It’s fucking awesome. It falls from the air and you run it over? It seems that everyone within a 20 meter radius of the purple man just fucking ends up dead some way or another. You don’t care. He’s milky. And nice to you, you think. Probably? “Ey, you and me, at my house, wuddaya think?” 

You stare at him. Deep into his soul. He likes how much you stare. It turns his cheeks pink. You see nothing. He stares back. Not breaking a smile or blinking. What the fuck. “Yes. Yes. Show me.” He swerves and turns around in the middle of the road. Oh my god. He drives extremely fast. He seems excited. 

“I haven’t had anyone over in over 10 years! Ever since my wife left me and the kids moved out. They never call me either…” 

“I’ll call you.” You say to him, blushing. He stops looking at the road again and stares deeply into your eyes. Suddenly, he slams on the breaks after pulling into the driveway, stopping 1cm before running into his own house. It looks like shit. There’s mold growing on it. 

“This, this is MY den!” he says. Who the fuck says that. You get out of the car. He gets out of the car, but forgets to put it on park, so he slams the breaks as it starts to roll backwards. He then puts it in park and gets out. He rushes towards you and fucking grabs you. 

“Whee!” you say as he literally picks you up like a fucking football. The windows of his house are covered in plastic. He throws you in one like a quarterback and you land on his living room couch. Awesome. 

“That’s soccer!” he says. You almost forgot he was British, but sadly remembered. He does a backflip into the house despite being an overweight 45 year old man. You think you hear some of his bones snapping, but he doesn't seem to notice or slow down. H

You take in a deep breath. Smells like weed, mold, and pizza. And maybe some carbon monoxide. It calms you. The man who'd invited you into his house stands up and stretches his back, and you hear his bones pop into place.

"I'll make us some grub, yeah? You just relax n' watch the telly. Crazy in America they don’t even make you get a license!" The telly. You hate british people. 

The TV isn't on. There's an old ass button on the front, because this is the 80's, so you crawl over piles of trash on the ground and press it with your finger. You're shocked just a little with static and it turns on. The channel's just static, so you flip through to find something interesting. They're all static, save for one, which is playing a rerun of Doctor Phil. Awesome.

When your boss enters again with a few slices of overcooked pizza, crisp and black how the Brits like em, he notices what you're watching. "Sorry that we don't got any working channels, bud."

What? What the hell were you watching, then? You notice that the doctor's eyes were pitch black. Were you hallucinating Doctor Phil? 

You turn to stare at Willyum in horror. He smiles at you like always. Oh my god. You had your bladder removed surgically to make more room for your oversized lungs, which were deformed at birth. You could hold your breath really long. You can smoke so much weed at once. Awesome. 

William forces a paper plate of burnt ass pizza onto your lap and sits down by you. You gnaw on the crispy pizza and he inches towards you, looking at you for acceptance. You lean on him and watch TV static while romantically pizza cuddling. This static and pizza hits differently. 

“I learned everything I know about electrical engineering from the static, you know?” You assume aliens speak to him or something. "I also use FurAffinity as a reference." He begins smelling your hair. HUH? You are completely good with this. Awesome! 

“Your hair smells like dollar tree brand shampoo.” He grabs your head like he is going to snap your neck, as he whispers sensually. He lowers his head for you to smell his hair in return. What the fuck? You assume this is how British people greet each other. You smell his greasy but still thick despite being elderly and going gray brown hair. Smells like pepperoni. You think that the only reason you're into him might be because he isn't balding, but whatever. You hate bald people with a passion. You smack them over their shiny bald heads when you see them. It took your full strength to not just canister Mike into the walls like a bowling ball. 

Mr. Afton looks at you with a genuine smile. Why does he look genuinely not psychotic now of all times. You assume that the weed calmed him like antipsychotics. 

He leans and strokes your cheek. You want to kiss him, despite him being British. Such a fool you are, you think to yourself. British people have cooties. You don’t want to catch them. Your teeth might become….like that. 

You don’t care anymore. You let him get away with murder, you can let him give you teeth COVID-87. But when you lean in to look at his mouth, seriously considering it, you hesitate. This fucker's mouth was so wide, you feared his maw would gape wide open and crunch against your frontal lobe.

But you don’t care about that, either. Being lobotomized can't be as bad as staying with your ex wife. You kiss the purple-wearing chungus. You don’t even get your face bitten off. Awesome. 

There's a knock at the door. William hadn't had visitors in 10 years, so who could this be? 

"FBI! OPEN UP!" Comes the screaming of the men at the door, and you catch the gleam of red and blue lights flashing through the cracks of his house. 

“FUCK, THE COPPERS!” William jumps up and grabs you by the scruff of the neck like a cat, running further into his house, down into a cellar, and into the depths of a basement. You don’t care anymore about anything, this is fine. It's probably the carbon monoxide poisoning making you think this way. You hear a distant breaking down of the front door, despite the windows being clearly fucking open.

He tosses you into a room with fucking caution tape along the walls. A giant metal door slides closed behind you. What the hell? It's like you were in a totally different place now Mr. Afton had spent all of his money on this elevator that you slowly descended in, and did not pay a cent in home renovation, taxes or shampoo...or toothpaste. 

So he brings you in this little fucking apocolypse bunker with nothing but canned spam and diet lipton tea. Why diet? Does tea even have calories. You’re more worried about this than the approaching doom of armed men that marched towards your very position. 

He sets you in a corner and goes “Shh! We can last weeks down here in hiding, I planned for it! Plus, I even have a friend with me...let’s be more than friends.” 

“Let’s get married, before the FBI executes us at gun point.” He scrounges around and finds a ringpop, still in its wrapper. He opens the ring pop and gets on one knee. 

“Will you marry me?” he asks. 

“Yeah, cool!” you say, barely able to stay conscious from the poison running in your system, and he puts the ring on your pinky finger.

He embraces you in a bear hug. Soft. Warm. You remember how he killed like 30 people. It is just a passing thought; instead, you’re focused on what a hunk of man you got. Uggada buggada. Awesome.

You think of your ex, Dorothy, famous for the reality tv show “The Golden Girls”, She was probably at home watching The Big Bang Theory again. That show fucking sucks. She only married you for your young looks. Unfortunately, you lost every hair on your head the very next year, turning bald, and she fell out of love immediately. This fueled your hatred for baldness, and with her rich person money you had every hair surgically reattached to your head. Sadly, since she had already seen what a nightmare you looked like without hair, the feelings couldn't be saved. Fuck Dorothy. You hoped her retirement home was shitty, and that all her teeth fell out and she went bald so she looked like James Charles.

James Charles used to be a very famous and sexy man before he lost all his teeth and hair to cancer, and everyone just started fucking hating him because he made children cry just by them seeing him. You then remember how William murdered that random child but forget about it because bygones are bygones.

Anyways, the FBI was pounding at the door with a big metal log or something. Busting it down. William grabs your arm and says “We must descend deeper into my seven layers of torture du- I mean basement.”

You follow him because you are so fucking high you don’t care.

As you ascend deeper you see them. The animatronics. The ones they couldn’t let loose at the pizzeria. You see a furby with human flesh instead of fur. It screamed out to you, “KILL ME!” William kicked it aside and kept descending. Deeper into the stairways of total darkness. It was absolutely gut wrenchingly horrifying but he held your hand so that made it better. 

The animatronics closed in on you. Suddenly, you found yourselves surrounded. “WILLIAM! YOU WILL PAY!” The robots shrieked in pain. 

“Oh…” he says before he starts punching and beating them with his bare hands. You hide under his feet for protection. The FBI was already dead, the furby skinned them all alive with his special mechanism. It uses it to restore it’s flesh anew. William patented the design.

"This here's The Skinby," he explained while wiping the sweat of his brow with the sleeve of his purple dress shirt. He’s so fucking sexy you think to yourself despite the fact that you’re literally like about to die. "Had to recall this one from Freddy's because it wouldn't stop using slurs that it downloaded from my Xbox." Awesome.

That was why it was recalled? You were glad it wasn't worse. What the hell. You really didn't want to live here. You didn't want to live at all. You only wanted William and nothing else. You want to die here with him. 

The animatronic jumpscares him and bites his head off as he falls he crushes your head under his fat ass and you die instantly. You both died together, at the same time. Bliss is the last thing you felt before being sent to Hell Jail with him. 

Now you are together forever. Awesome.

-THE END: TRUE ENDING!-  
-NSFW route update coming soon-!  
Please like, comment, and subscribe, thanks!


End file.
